followed the funeral procession to the
cemetery--thousands of children, each child with a green bough or bunch
of flowers to pile on the red mound.

A beautiful girl pushed her way to Jennie's side and lifted a handful of
snowdrops.

"Please put these on little Joe," she said wistfully. "I knew him so
well."

With a sob the child turned and fled. Jennie never learned her name.
She turned to the grave again, her gaze fixed on the striking figure of
the grief-stricken father, bare-headed, straight as an arrow, his fine
face silhouetted against the shining Southern sky. The mother stood back
amid the shadows, in her somber wrappings, her tall figure drooped in
pitiful grief.

The leader turned quickly from his personal sorrows to those of his
country, his indomitable courage rising to greater heights as dangers
thickened.

Two weeks later General Sheridan attempted what Dahlgren tried and
failed to accomplish.

The President hurried from his office to his home, seized his pistols,
mounted his horse and rode out to join Generals Gracie and Ransom who
were placing their skeleton brigades to repulse the attack.

The crack of rifles could be distinctly heard from the Executive
Mansion.

The mother called her children to prayers. As little Jeff knelt he
raised his chubby face and said with solemn earnestness:

"You had better have my pony saddled, and let me go out and help
father--we can pray afterwards!"

In driving Sheridan's cavalry back from Richmond General Stuart fell at
Yellow Tavern mortally wounded--the bravest of the brave--a full Major
General who had won immortal fame at thirty-one years of age. His
beautiful wife, the daughter of a Union General, Philip St. George
Cooke, could not reach his bedside before he breathed his last.

The President reverently entered the death chamber and stood for fifteen
minutes holding the hand of his brilliant young commander.

They told him that he could not live to see his wife.

"I should have liked to have seen her," he said gently, "but God's will
be done."

The doctor felt his fast fading pulse.

"Doctor, I suppose I'm going fast now," Stuart said. "It will soon be
over. I hope I have fulfilled my duty to my country and my God--"

"Your end is near, General Stuart," the doctor responded softly.

"All right," was the even answer. "I'll end my little affairs down here.
To Mrs. Robert E. Lee I give my gold spurs, in eternal memory of the
love I bear my glori